


keeper.

by RosalinesRussianRoseElixir



Series: imprint. [2]
Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game), Halloween Movies - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Sexual Assault, Gen, Kidnapping, Minor Character Death, NSFW, Stockholm Syndrome, Ugh, fuckhands mcmike - Freeform, gender neutral reader, i hate tagging things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23417617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RosalinesRussianRoseElixir/pseuds/RosalinesRussianRoseElixir
Summary: ‘Missing Persons Case? Infamous Murderer Prime Suspect.’‘On October 31st, at 12:02 a.m., a phone call was made to the Haddonfield police department. When reporting to the scene several officers and the deputy reported signs of a struggle. Stray pieces of glass and an open back door lead to a possible B&E as well as a suspected kidnapping. Though usually that would be an apt assumption, because of Michael Myers’ suspected involvement, some speculate it may not even be a missing persons case. According to the leading officer on the case, the case may be an outlier but “Myers is definitely a suspect. If not him, at least a copycat”. The search for the Haddonfield resident continues but the chances of this particular victim being found alive have never been so low.’-hello! this is part 2 of locked in. another Mikey fic I wrote before this. the attempted sexual assault tag refers to a man who does not succeed and is killed by Mikey, thus minor character death.
Relationships: Michael Myers/Reader, Michael Myers/You
Series: imprint. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684477
Comments: 4
Kudos: 114





	keeper.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for returning to read part 2! I hope you enjoy it! This is part 2 to the halloweenie surprise and after some requests on Tumblr for a part 2, I decided to make a sequel. thank you for reading and commenting and for the kudos as well!

You don’t know how long you’ve been inside of this dark room. The smell of dust and mildew makes you not want to breathe but you’re used to not having choices anymore. Everything you’ve tried to get out always ends in failure or worse: Letting your kidnapper know that you tried to get out. He’s caught you in the act and ripped you away from the windows many times. Crying and wailing don't seem to appeal to his conscience at all so you've stopped wasting the water. You sit in the room and can only be glad that he hasn't restrained you or tried to tie you up. But you understand it’s because he knows that he can always stop you from leaving. Can always drag you back. 

The door opens and you snap your head up to see your masked kidnapper enter the room you're holed up in. He’s holding a bag of what you know is whatever he stole. The paper bag he carried was crisp and new but you could see just a faintest spray of blood. The assortment of common grocery items he placed at your feet painted a mental image of a suburban mom just coming home from the market. Stopped by some impossible force. Just to feed you. You wished you could spring forth tears but you had already shed so many. They’ve done nothing for you. You almost didn't want to eat but you couldn't deny the loaf of bread. Counting on his will to feed you was dangerous. If he lost track or forgot, you could potentially starve or die of dehydration. You took what you could where you could get it. Where he would let you.

He watched you, lingering in the dark corner. You thought that maybe he felt more comfortable there. You sat among a pile of various fabrics tossed upon a mattress. You hated to think that he prepared to take you away. But it was so hastily thrown together, it was obvious that while you were passed out, he had collected what he could. You doubted that he would have really cared about the ache in your sitting bones, but the fabrics underneath you were better than nothing. He could be crueler. Being grateful put a bad taste in your mouth but you sensed that he favored killing his victims rather than stashing them away. You listened for hours, quieting your breath when you were sure he was gone to see if you could hear anything else. There was no one else here. 

Dirty fingers slipped along the plastic wrapped around the bread. You hadn’t been given a bath since you got here and you had been doing your best to keep track of the days since you arrived. 2 days passed from what you could tell, not accounting the amount of space that he took bringing you here. You couldn’t be sure what he planned for you or how long you would end up staying here but you tried to keep your mind sharp.

-

A bucket of cold water and a rag would have to do for bathing. It was better than nothing but again, being grateful to your kidnapper made you feel like you were betraying yourself. The rag swept across your skin and he had left the room to you, giving you privacy. At least you hoped that he wasn't watching. He liked to watch. You had a feeling he had been watching you for hours before you had even taken notice that something was wrong. Acutely aware of your presence in the house. 

You sighed and replaced your clothes, moving the tin bucket to the corner. You wondered what your parents thought. Now that you were missing, was anyone looking? Did people at school do a vigil for you? Did people put up posters? The thoughts made you uncomfortable but you couldn't resist. The world moved on with or without you. You regretted not listening to your friends. They had warned you and you had dismissed it as some legend. He should have killed you. Your boredom and thoughts would probably end up killing you first. You noticed that the man in the mask stayed here more often. You thought it might have been to avoid the search parties. But you knew he wouldn't let them close enough to find you. 

He stared at you from his familiar dark corner. And you stared back at him. You tried to show as little fear as possible and in a way you weren't afraid. He hadn't done anything that the kidnappers did in the movies. Didn’t cut your finger off to send to your parents for a ransom, did not tie you up and starve you, hadn’t used you for baser desires. You couldn't understand why he kept you. All of his victims in the past either died, or escaped and moved away. His footsteps, although near silent, tracked away and out the door, wedging the heavy wooden slab against the door frame. 

-

A few weeks later, or as far as you could tell a few weeks later and you had tried just about everything. He had no veritable patterns, so you could never tell when exactly he would be back or not. The sun filtered through the window that was nailed shut and you had tried to throw things at it. It left hairline fractures in the glass instead of crashing through. The screen on the other side would probably keep you in anyway. 

Recently, you tried to talk to him. It hasn't worked. He wouldn’t or couldn't talk which made you feel awkward but you weren't able to stand the silence anymore. You had to hear something; even if it was yourself. You talked about your life, as boring as that seemed. You had realized that explaining it made it seem more boring than ever. In your mind, you joked that the future you worried so much about was out of the picture. A sick part of you was relieved that you didn’t have to think about that age old question. It brought a wry smile to your face as you brought your knees up to your chin and watched the moon float in the sky, as if tethered to the Earth by a string.

-

Michael had just learned your name. It rolled around in his head and if he wanted to say it he would, but he wouldn’t. He had kept you here in an abandoned house left to the elements. He observed you closely and picked up on your tells, the way you twitched and shivered in the cold, the blank expression on your face that was close to his own; he lacked the thoughts that flitted behind your eyes. He had caught you trying to leave but he took a rare joy in stopping you. Dragging you back into his hold, kicking and yelling obscenities. You started talking to him but he didn't respond. He didn't keep you here to talk. 

Michael was more motivated by the thought of owning you. Of you belonging to him. You would see no one else, you would talk to no one else, you would receive food from no one else. You needed him. And he liked that he did not necessarily need you. Upon meeting you, something had drawn him to you. You were difficult to keep track of and you knew what tricks he would try to get you. He had watched you, heard you, touched you, smelled you, and even tasted you. The thought of you had imprinted on him. In a strange way, he hated that he was so taken with you. Perhaps he should have just killed you. You were of no use. 

Then who would he toy with? Trap and torment without that much of a penalty? You were no fun if you were dead. 

-

One night, the autumn cold and rain scented winds drove a stranger to your little hiding space. You were fast asleep but the creaks you had attuned yourself to listening out for sounded off. In fact, he seemed to be making more noise than usual. You thought that he might have been injured or something, loud footsteps echoing up the stairs. Only when you heard a voice did you suspect that it might not even be the man in the mask. The words were unintelligible but they made you shake all the same. Someone was here! Maybe they could help you out.

The wooden door swung open slowly and a bedraggled man stepped inside, not noticing you until you stood from your pile of musty fabrics. You presumed he was some sort of squatter, simply seeking respite from a harsh world.

“Hey, what are you playing at?! Who's there?” He pointed a small switchblade in your direction and you raised your hands. 

“Please! You have to help me! He’ll- He’ll be here any minute!” You scrambled away from the blade, your explanation dropping his guard. 

“What the hell are you talking about? Who? Just what are you doing here anyway?” He dropped the pack he was wearing on his back to the floor and you gulped. “Are you some sort of runaway? Little moneybags left their family for a bad-boy-boyfriend? Think he’ll share with me? I’ve got some-” 

“What? NO! I’ve been kidnapped by some murderer and-” The man chuckled and inhaled deeply. 

“I can smell a lie a mile away, sweetheart.” He began closing in on you and you couldn’t believe your bad luck. In the darkness behind the man, the pale face came closer and closer and you tried to look away to hold his element of surprise. You had never been so glad to see that unfeeling mask in the doorway. The man startled at the hand pulling him back. His element of surprise worked as the man shouted and swiped at the man with his switchblade. Your keepers knife however was much larger. He slashed at the hand holding the little knife and he dropped it. He dragged the man out of your room, clawing at the walls. 

“Get him off’a me! Tell him to sto-” As if you told your own kidnapper what he could and could not do. The man kicked the door closed, muffling the pleas. Your chest moved with your panting and you tried to calm your racing heart. Your fingers shook with the settling thought of how wrong that could have gone. It was as though the floor moved beneath you and you registered your body colliding with the for once comforting pile of cloth. The little knife caught the light from the window glinting at you temptingly. You didn't dare touch it. 

-

After that, you had approached the man with less fear in your heart; not that there was much to begin with. Yes, you were aware of what he did to people on his nights out. You supposed he stalked them a lot like he did you and eventually, when he tired of staying hidden in the shadows, he would wait for just the right moment to strike. Like he did with the squatter. You never did find out exactly what he had done to the man but when he returned he was covered in blood, wet and shining on his jumpsuit. You didn't really care because he was gone and he had taken him away for you. He checked your body over your clothes for injuries, satisfied with verifying when he found none on your skin. You allowed him to turn your limbs this way and that, his hands big enough to cuff your wrist entirely and overlap. 

“He didn’t touch me.” His breath was heavier sounding behind his mask, his head tipping up to acknowledge your comment but equally as unresponsive as usual. His hand swiped down and picked up the knife that the homeless man dropped on the floor, boots tracking over the blood he caused to spill. He left you to your devices after he took the switchblade away but something white fell on the floor, just before he closed the door behind him. It was a thin plastic strip and as you turned it over you could make out words. A hospital identification wristband. Strange marks tattered the material and you could imagine where he tried to tear the thing off with his teeth. On it was his name and birthday as well as some meaningless numbers and letters. The words ‘Smiths Grove Sanitorium’ were starting to wear off but you lamented all the same. Your friends were right. His name was Michael Audrey Myers. You smiled at the middle name. You're sure if he caught you saying it he wouldn't hesitate to kill you. The thought made you laugh. 

Michael let you wander the house now. From room to room you drifted and explored the dusty house, searching drawers for interesting objects and when you asked nicely he lowered the attic stairs and let you look through the boxes of books and baby toys, long forgotten by the previous owners. Opening the kitchen cabinet revealed a brown recluse crawling among the contents and you screamed, shutting the cabinet way more quickly than you had opened it. When you turned the imposing figure of your captor stood behind you. You pointed at the wooden door of the storage cabinet. He yanked it open, the spider going still again at the presence of another disruption. 

“You know that those are poisonous, right?” He looked from you to the spider, unphased by the possibility of it killing him. He picked the arachnid up and your eyes widened at the action. He didn't think this little brown insect stood a chance of killing him. In a moment, the spider was crushed in his bare hand, curled up and stiffening. Did he just… squish a brown recluse with his own hand? It was dead now, what did you have to worry about? You shrugged and went back to exploring, thanking him passively. You could sense he was still behind you, silent as always. You perused the random kitchen tools and items, rusting keys and finished rolls of tape in designated junk drawers, empty containers and bottles strewn about the counters. Broken light bulbs and useless wires. You grew tired and sat on the plastic covered furniture, your captor content on listening to you read aloud. 

“Do you know how to read?” You asked and he looked at you but only tilted his head. You scooted closer to him with a book in your hand. “When I was a kid, they taught me to read. I think it’s fun if you pick what you want to read about.” You pointed at words and he regarded your finger gliding over the page, your enthusiasm lost on him but the smile he could see was more genuine than the others he had seen. “One day, I’ll help you write something.” He had no use for writing but he stayed quiet, granting you this moment of peace. 

-

His hand weaved in your hair, feeling the softness. You had raided the cabinets and found some strange liquid to slather in your hair, untangling as best as you could with fingers. You leaned into the contact, realizing your mistake too late. You had indulged him and he wouldn't let you go back. His hand followed you, pulling you back by the silky strands. A soft yelp left your lips but he didn't mind it. You had not been touched in so long that it almost felt good to have his thick fingers running through your hair. Shivers racked your spine at the feeling of his fingers at your scalp. He pulled at your coverings, hands petting at your bare skin, entranced by the softness. At the blood rushing just under the surface. You thought about stopping him but you had seen what happens to people who cross him. Even by accident. He seemed fascinated by the texture of your skin, you hated to think of the grimy fingers on your face but your fleshy cheeks attracted his attention. He had less than stellar hygiene but they seemed cleaner this time, acquiescing to his hand on your chin. You looked up at the bleached mask; it was unfair that you didn't get to see his face or his emotions. 

He always seemed to have some sort of advantage. Some sort of upper hand. Taller. Stronger. Bigger than you.

Soon, he bored of the skin along your arms and petted at your torso, squeezing you when he suspected you to be squirming. You were just ticklish, not like he understood that. He groped and clutched at your flesh, getting used to the sensation. You noticed that although you expected his hands to be rough and calloused, they were actually soft and warm, sweeping over your sensitive underbelly. His long digits inched closer and closer to your groin and your nervousness won over the simple truth you knew. Stopping him was impossible but maybe he would take your discomfort into consideration. Michael, however, was a creature who thrived off of spite. If he was told not to do something, he would do it. 

In punishment, your wrist was gripped in a vice-like hold, held away from his prying actions. Your arm went limp in his grasp, listening to the steady low breathes escaping the small orifices in his mask. Placed in his lap like a toy, he continued, ripping the button from your pants, tearing the zipper down. Michael tugged your pants down, eagerly inspecting your legs and thighs. A brief intake of your breath directed him to your inner thighs, staying as quiet as possible to keep him from suspecting anything else. Eliciting that response might have been his goal because as soon as he heard it, he tried to get you to make that noise. 

Whimpering gasps left your lips, very aware of the bulge grinding underneath you. His bruising strength did not falter even when you tried to twist out of it. Slow movements ran over your crotch, you could only watch as Michael pushed your underwear out of the way. He was keenly attentive to every little noise slipping past your parted lips, repeating whatever made you make it. He let your hips buck against his leg, your despricity an amusing display. Your muscles are weak, your breath just as feeble. Your skin is warm and your heart beats fast in your ribcage, you can hear it in your ear. He pushed you forward enough for his hand to unzip his coveralls, the layer removed helps you feel the scorching heat of his body behind yours, unnaturally warm against your spine. Michaels hands loosened from around you long enough to pull himself free of the deep blue fabric of his coveralls. Something hot and damp nudged at your inner thigh and you pushed up and away from it. 

“I- I’m not-” You choked out, as a last ditch effort to see if he would stop but he didn’t, spreading your legs and reveling in the whine you let out. You weren't even sure if you wanted him to stop. You figured he would punish you for objecting as a strong palm found your throat, threatening to crush the delicate bones underneath. He shoved himself inside of you anyway, a groan of something between pleasure and pain caught in your mouth. Your head fell back onto his shoulder, listening to the tiny noises he made at the reprieve your body offered him. He had never spoken but the overwhelming sensation it seemed could force him to make a peep. They were not loud but the small grunts and slight moan made you tremble. If your head wasn’t resting on his shoulder, you doubt you would have heard them at all. 

Thighs spread over his thighs, hands laid over his hands, gripping at your hips to help the slow motions of his own. Blood under his pale skin ran hot and you perceived that same heat all around you, his frame large enough to make you feel so small. Not just physically. The warm organ penetrating you was bigger than anything like it that you had seen before. Pressure welled up inside of you at the force he built up to take you so roughly. His pace changed just slightly and you lost connection to the outside world for a minute. The hold on your hips tightened, his concentration changed to the space between your legs, stimulating the sensitive skin. The smell of iron, latex, motor oil, and Michael enveloped you as you turned your head, nuzzling into the neck of his mask and the collar of his jumpsuit. The head of his cock nudged just the right spot inside of you and your mouth fell open in a loud moan. Around your head, a haze formed, the pleasure taking your ability to breathe. You craned your head back to see his eyes through his mask, electricity running through your limbs and into your core. The color of his iris wasn't clear through the shadows of his mask but one was a milky white, blinking lethargically in tune with his other eye. Cold latex, the nose of his mask just touching your heated cheeks made you sigh, the pressure in your lower belly finally snapping like a twig underfoot. You went slack in his embrace, warmth settling deep inside of you. He wouldn’t let go of you.

-

‘Search for Haddonfield Resident Finally Called Off.’  
This weekend, a press conference was held in front of the Haddonfield police station where Sheriff Brackett announced that search efforts for the missing person who disappeared from Garrison Ave. last Halloween would be revoked. After months of no clues or progress and no signs of them or their suspected kidnapper, search parties have stopped gathering to comb the woods and corn fields surrounding the town. The family of the missing person stated that they would not be ceasing the search. Their parents agreed that “the police have been helpful but they’ve given up.” Nonetheless, “[They]’ll never stop searching for [their] baby. Never”.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to leave any requests at red-doll-face.tumblr.com I write mostly for classic slashers but I do some dbd stuff for both killers and survivors!


End file.
